


Growing up is overrated, just be an author

by Tabata



Series: Leoverse [214]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 09:15:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20189860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabata/pseuds/Tabata
Summary: Leo manages to leave the house alone for the first time in months and he goes to the park to write, something he recently started to do again after a long, long time and that is giving him joy and peace of mind. Here he meets Mark, someone who's going to change his life.





	Growing up is overrated, just be an author

**Author's Note:**

> **WARNING:** This story is a spin-off sequel for Broken Heart Syndrome. This means that, despite not being properly set after BHS (but that's only because BHS is probably never going to have a proper ending and we'll keep talking about these people forever), it depicts things happening way late in the 'verse, and that may be on varying degrees of spoiler.  
Mark has already showed up here and there in some of the other stories but this is the first time he enters Leo's (and Blaine's) life.

Leo thought Faurot Park was a good compromise between leaving the house for a few hours and walking no more than fifteen minutes. It's not like one year ago anymore, when wearing proper clothes, giving himself an easy task for the day and going out to complete it was a torture he only inflicted upon himself by order of his therapist. He feels better now and he enjoys going out every now and then, he just rather not do it alone if he can avoid it. Having people to chat with while he goes places helps him not to get lost in his head too much. But what he wants to do today needs peace and quiet, so he has no choice but to leave the house and get away from six years old Timmy, who's got a fever and he spends his time either crying or whining for a glass a water, some cuddles or _something to do_.

Writing came natural to him when he was a teen. He wasn't one of those obsessive or prolific fanfic writers that produced hundreds of pages a week, but he used to write short stories or scripts for some of his friends who drew comics. And he had the habit to write down the campaigns he came up with for their D&D sessions not to forget any of the intricate details he insisted to put in them. It was a thing he enjoyed but that he didn't put much effort in, like many others. After all, the only thing he was really passionate about at that age was Blaine, which is what brought him where he is here now, physically and mentally. But that is not something he wants to dwell upon now. He does that too much already in his therapist's office and they both – Dr. Williams and him – think there's no need for him to dwell upon it anywhere else.

Start writing again wasn't a conscious choice. It just happened a few weeks ago. He was bored enough – and bold enough, since that could have been triggering – to re-read some of his old things. Then he opened the writing program and just started writing. It was just a couple of pages at first, then they became five and now he has an on-going series of twenty short stories all set in the same universe. He hasn't let anyone read them yet – not even Dr. Williams, who knows he's writing, though, and approves of his new outlet – but he can see they are going somewhere, so he cares about them a lot. He really _wants_ to follow this unexpected bout of inspiration, he feels happy when he writes and incredibly lighter and calm once he's done, so for the first time in a very long time crossing the street and walking down Lakewood Avenue is not particularly bothering.

He finds an isolated bench, not too close to the street but not in the innermost part of the park either, as he wants to be able to hear the faint noise of kids playing in the distance and the splashing of the water of the Children's Fountain nearby. He needs white noise to concentrate, he's never been able to focus surrounded by complete silence. He takes one last sip of the Caramel Macchiato he picked up along the way as he reads the last twenty lines he wrote last night in bed as he was waiting for Blaine to come out of the shower.

The main character of his story is a young man forced to embark on a quest to find a few lost artifacts to save a kingdom he doesn't care anything about. In Leo's plans, the boy will meet several people – and with one in particular he'll have a troubled love story with – that will help him find the artifacts, the love for the kingdom and himself along the way. Some of the stories he wrote so far revolve around several different characters, to introduce them and get the hand of them before writing something more substantial. But the one he plans to finish today is about the love interest and he feels the pressure, and also the excitement, to be more meticulous. 

He's had the man in mind – yes, he's a proper man, not another kid – for quite some time now and he's pretty confident about how he should move and talk, so writing about him is just a question of putting his fingers on the keyboard and writing. Words flow more naturally out of him for this character than any other, except maybe the protagonist. He's vaguely aware that the protagonist and his love interest are based on himself and Blaine, but that's a thought he refuses to entertain at the moment. Too complicated.

An hour later, he's already so into the story he's writing that he barely notices the people walking past him. The jogging man who has run several lapses, closing down the distance a little more every time, has to stop not so casually in front of his bench for Leo to even vaguely acknowledge his presence. He looks up from the screen just in time to see him breathing in and out and opening his arms over his head to let them fall down his sides immediately after. He must be about his age, but more fit and more sophisticated. He wears his iPhone in a band around his arm – which says I'm taking care of myself but I never stop working – and he's wearing a fitness tracker on his right wrist instead of a normal watch – which says I eat organic but I'm a man who knows the latest trend in technology – and he must be rich because none of the clothes he put on today costs less than $100. Leo can easily see him turning into Blaine in twenty years. Except that, unlike Blaine's, the stranger's handsomely strong features might take a tragic turn for the worse in his old age.

“Do you mind?” The man says, smiling a little as he points at the free seat next to Leo on the bench. “I'm drained.”

Leo can't help but smile back. He has actually lost practice in looking at other men lately, but his ability to respond to obvious flirting kicks in automatically. “Sure, no problem.” With his laptop on his lap, the Starbucks cup next to him on the bench, his baggy shirt and the headband that struggles to keep his wild black curls away from his face, he must really look like a cliche: the wannabe writer.

“Thanks.” The man smiles and sits on the bench, pretending to be catching his breath, even if he has no need to. “You come here often?”

Leo freezes for a moment – speaking of cliches, the man just beat him – but he smiles anyway, because this is amusing and he feels strangely well enough to find it so. “Not as often as I should, I'm afraid.”

“That's a pity.” The man relaxes against the back of the bench, his arms leaning on the edge of it, wide open. “I love this place. I come here every time I can because it makes me feel good, which happens very rarely here in Lima, the most depressing town in the world”

“Oh, come on now. There are worse places to live in.”

The man raises an eyebrow. “I'll be a gentleman and I won't ask you to tell me at least one,” he says, making Leo chuckle. “Anyway I guess even this place of rare beauty in this otherwise sad city won't make me happy anymore after today.”

Leo looks at him, eyes slightly narrowed because of the sun. “And why is that?”

The man offers him such a self-confident smirk that Leo feels suddenly shy. “ Because now every time I'll come here I'll be searching for you. You definitely make this place prettier.”

This time Leo blushes, flattered. “Thank you,” he says in a whisper. Then, he clears his throat and tries to find in himself a fraction of the person he was back in college when something like this happened every other day and flirting was basically his main occupation. “And tell me, do you always pretend to be jogging and then stop randomly to tell this very same thing to every cute guy who happens to be sitting on this bench?”

The man laughs out loud, really amused. “Not usually, no. Besides, I wasn't pretending. I jog almost every day. You know, I want to keep my shape. It's important to feel good about your body.”

Blaine must have said something similar the other day. Leo is not sure those were his boyfriend's exact words – it was something, like, six in the morning, Leo wasn't really listening – but the general sense of the sentence must have been the same. “Well, I'm no expert but in my humble opinion I can say your shape is most surely kept.”

The man moves a little bit closer, but not too much. He acts like he's just sitting more comfortably on the bench and Leo plays along. “Really? You know, non-experts' opinions are usually the best, because they're the most honest.”

Leo opens his arms wide. “And here I am. The less expert and most honest person you could possibly find around here. Someone would say it's only because I have no control whatsoever over what comes out of my mouth, but we won't listen to them.”

“Ain't I lucky?” The man laughs again and then he holds out his hand to him. Suddenly Leo realizes it's about time they introduce themselves. “By the way, I'm Mark. Nice to meet you.”

“Leo.”

“You know, I was thinking about talking more thoroughly about your opinions, since I find your non-expert advice really, really interesting.” This time Mark leans towards him just a little more evidently, offering him a charming smile and Leo can almost feel the weight of the expectation carried by the words that he's about to say next. “What about dinner? Tonight, if you're free?”

Here they are. At least he didn't lose his sixth sense for these things, did he? Leo looks down for a moment, smiling, not sheepishly because that has never been his thing, but really flattered. It's been a while since he was hit on by someone other than Blaine and it makes him feel pretty good. “Um, thank you—“

“But no thank you?” Mark chuckles nervously, reading into Leo's hesitation.

“I'd really love to, you seem a nice guy and you are—well, definitely more than handsome, but I'm taken.”

“Oh”. Mark chuckles again, not embarrassed at all, but clearly surprised. Leo can't blame him, he _was_ flirting after all. He would even feel a little bit guilty if Mark showed any sign of being upset, but the man is clearly too confident for that. “It's the only reason for a no that I can accept without feeling too bad for myself. It's not me, it's your boyfriend,” he jokes. “I'm sorry, I thought—Let's pretend I never even asked.” He raises both his hands, looking around.” Your boyfriend is here with you?”

“No, he's not. In this very moment, he's at home, playing the nurse with another man,” Leo answers, looking at the screen just to give himself something to do. His writing session is probably over at this point, but he doesn't want to close the laptop and look like he's about to go yet.

Mark seems confused. “And you're okay with that?”

“Yes. If he doesn't play the nurse, I'll have to. And I so do not want to.” Leo pretends to shiver at the idea of being alone with a sick Timmy. The kid is an angel on a normal day, but all kids are impossible to deal with when they are burning with fever and need to throw up every five seconds, and Timmy is no exception to that. “Six years old can be very grumpy when they've got the flu.” He turns to Mark and smiles. “His son is sick. He's taking care of him.”

“Oh, I see. You come with the whole package, don't you? Damn! Why should all the best men be whores or taken?”

“Well, I'm glad I'm part of the second group, at least.”

“I don't know how this society is expecting from us to form families and be happy this way. There's just no one left to hit on.” Mark sighs, crossing his hands between his knees. “ Alright, so I think I'd better be going and leave you do—Whatever you're doing. Studying?”

Studying is definitely something he should be doing right now. A few months ago Dr. Williams came up with the suggestion that going back to some of his old commitments, however progressively, could help him reinforce the balance he's recently trying to regain. Leo was not too keen at the idea of giving exams but the prospect of having a schedule was alluring because strict sets of rules are what he works best with right now. So he accepted as long as he didn't have to go to class—Too many hours away from home. Dr. Williams helped him write his own schedule and now they're planning to have him ready to give his first exam in about four months. “I _should_ be studying but I'm just writing stuff.”

“You write?”

If Mark had dog ears they would be probably perking up right now. His whole attitude changes and there's a shift in the light in his eyes too. Leo can see that he's suddenly interested in him in a totally different way and that makes him hesitant. “Well, sort of. I mean, it's just crap.”

“Really? You know, I'm a book agent. I could read something, if you want. I promise I'd give you my most honest and genuine opinion even if I'm not exactly a non-expert.”

Mark gives him another of those very confident smiles and Leo can't help but blush as he smiles back. He clearly has a thing for magnetic guys – a thing he should have already understood a long time ago, given some of the men he loved most, but he has never been that perceptive. “Is this some second pick-up line you've got ready for men who have boyfriends and stepsons?”

Mark laughs out loud. “I swear I'm a real agent.” He grabs his wallet from his back pocket and retrieves a business card from it. “Here, have my card. I'm always interested in new authors, especially if they're cute and seem smart.”

“Mark Sullivan,” Leo reads. “So, let's say I google you—“

“I really hope you do. I spent a fortune to index my site.”

Leo chuckles. “Well, I have been writing something lately. It's not much yet but I could send it to you or—I don't know.”

“I'm looking forward to it. There's my e-mail and my business phone number, you've got all you need. You send me something and I'll let you know. What have you been writing exactly? Novels, short stories...?”

“Mostly short stories. I'm trying to decide what to do with them and what style I prefer. I'm trying out a few different ones.”

Mark nods. “That's good. Authors who specialize in just one genre are so out of the scene, now,” he explains with a shrug. “Someone writes one type of book and suddenly the next fifty books are exact copies of that one with just one slight variation. I prefer eclectic people. I want a book to give me all I want, not just part of it. I want it to be satisfying.” He smirks at him, “You seem like a satisfying person.”

Leo realizes that he feels so at ease with this stranger that he manages to smirk the way he used to. “Oh I'm a very satisfying person,” he says playfully as he closes his laptop. It's almost time to go. Blaine's gonna freak out if he's not home for dinner. 

“And yet you're already going away!” Mark exclaims, tragically. He stands up, holding out his hand so they can shake hands once again before saying goodbye. “I can't say I'm really satisfied, there's still something else I'd like to ask.”

“Well, I've got an idea,” Leo says, putting his laptop away in its bag. “Why don't you have dinner with me? I mean, with us? I'll make dinner. I promise, I'm very good at cooking. So I can show you what I wrote and you can ask all the questions you want.”

“Oh, that's exactly what I wanted to ask you. So you are a writer, a mind reader _and_ a cook! Your boyfriend clearly found his golden goose,” Mark chuckles.

“Is that a yes?”

“Indeed it is.”

Leo smiles. “Tomorrow at eight? Let's give the kid a day to recover.”

Mark nods solemnly. “By all means. Where do you live?”

Leo points behind his back. “485, Lakewood Avenue. Ring Anderson.”

Mark taps his temple. “Memorized.”

“See you tomorrow, then.”

Mark waves and starts jogging again. Leo thinks he might be showing off a little bit, but he doesn't mind. The sight _is_ very pleasant after all. 

When he gets home, Blaine is reading on the couch and he's trying his best to act like he doesn't need reading glasses when, in fact, he's forced to keep the book so close to his face that it's almost comical. Leo noticed that a few months ago but he hasn't properly addressed the problem yet because the only time he tried, Blaine got really defensive. 

“Oh, you're back,” Blaine welcomes him and the chance to put down a book he can't clearly read with the same enthusiasm. “I was starting to worry.” He says it calmly – showing that he's not angry nor upset – but with some concern in his voice anyway. Blaine is currently in what Leo defines as _I'm not worried, but I worry_ state, a mindset he unfortunately developed on account of Leo's erratic behavior in the first several months after he started working with his therapist. He would be perfectly fine for a week and then suddenly freak out and leave the house for hours without any warning, leaving Blaine to wonder if he was ever going to come back and in what state. It hasn't been like that for a long time now, but such a fear is hard to shake. 

“Sorry, I got carried away.” Leo leaves his backpack on the floor and drops on the couch, half lying on Blaine so Blaine can start cuddling him right away.

Blaine combs his hair affectionately, trying to untie all the knots that inevitably form in those tight curls every day. “So, how was life outside your prison?”

Leo makes a face. “This house is not a prison anymore, you know that.”

“I know, but it's really nice to hear you say it,” Blaine smiles. It's in moments like these that Leo becomes painfully aware of how desperate Blaine is for some form of absolution, so much so that he searches for it in the smallest things. One day Leo will be ready to give it to him from his own lips, but not yet. So he pushes his face up, instead, to give him a kiss.

“I've made an acquaintance,” Leo says after a lot more kisses.

“Really? Who? Another soon-to-be writer?”

“Actually, an already-agent,” Leo chuckles. “He was jogging in the park and he stopped by.”

If anything, Blaine looks suddenly very confused. “Wait a second, he was at the park running and he stopped by because he saw you writing?”

“No, he stopped to hit on me, but—“

“What?”

“But,” Leo chuckles, raising his voice a little to stop Blaine from freaking out, “his flirting ended up pretty quickly because I told him I was taken. Then he asked me what I was doing and when I told him I was writing some stuff, he told me he is a book agent.”

“How convenient.”

Leo can clearly hear the dry snarl in Blaine's voice and he looks up at him curiously. “What?”

“Doesn't it sound weird to you that you were writing and he happened to be an agent, right after you rejected him?”

“Well, I didn't exactly _reject_ him. That would have been way more dramatic than what it was. He just asked me out and I said no, that's it.”

“For your information, that means rejecting someone. But, anyway, then he said he was a book agent, which is just what a young wannabe writer will find intriguing, don't you think? He never stopped hitting on you, kid. How old was he?”

Leo shrugs. “About my age, I think.”

Blaine snorts, his whole body tensing and becoming suddenly way less comfortable for Leo. “Even more so, then. Since he couldn't score by simply asking you out, he tried the old agent trick. Back in my day they were all directors or casting managers, but of course that wouldn't have interested you. You were writing. He was smart, I can give him that.”

Leo chuckles, hesitantly. He's not sure Blaine is really angry. “I don't think he lied, you know. He gave him his business card. His name is Mark Sullivan.”

Blaine has already got his phone in his hand. “Mark Sullivan,” he murmurs, googling him.

“I already searched for him. He seems legit,” Leo informs him, studying Blaine's face as the man browses through the first few pages that came up. The very first one is Mark's personal site, that contains all the information some aspirant writer would need about Mark's job and a nice picture of his handsome face.

“Is it this guy?” Blaine shows him that very same picture and Leo is frankly surprised by the amount of annoyance he can hear in his voice.

“Yes. See? He looks like a proper agent.”

“He looks very young to be one,” Blaine protested. “I still stand by what I said. What else did he tell you? That he could make you his next Barbara Better?”

That is a low blow, even for a jealous Blaine – if jealous is what he's being right now. Barbara “Barbie” Better is a fanfic writer turned “writer” overnight. In Leo's opinion she was a very mediocre fanfic writer to begin with and she's not improved now that she's writing this endless YA saga about vampire knights or something of the sort. He knows that Blaine hasn't had the chance to read any of his stories yet, but if this is the idea he has of Leo's work, then it's not very flattering. And what makes Leo even angrier is that he wasn't even thinking of becoming a writer – he's still not thinking about it – but he didn't think Blaine was going to mock him about this. “No, he just offered to read some of the stuff I wrote and give me his professional opinion,” he answers, irritably.

“And how does he plan to give his _professional opinion_?”

At that point Leo just stands up really annoyed. He doesn't want to argue – even though Blaine is making it really really hard not to – but it feels weird to just lie on Blaine while he throws innuendos like that. “I don't know, he will probably tell me I suck at writing during dinner tomorrow. But you'll be there too, so don't worry, that'll be the only kind of sucking that will happen.”

“What dinner?”

“I invited him over—“

Blaine frowns, angrily this time. “Excuse me, what?”

“So you could meet him too!” Leo sighs. His day has been too long already – going out, meeting people – he doesn't need this kind of stress right now. “Listen, it's just a dinner, alright? I put something together, he comes here, reads a couple of stories and then he leaves. End of the whole agent mess. Can we not, like, make a tragedy out of it?”

Blaine's clearly not okay with any of this – and he won't refrain from being cold with him for the rest of the night just to make his point, Leo knows that very well – but at least he seems to decide that it's best if they don't keep discussing this right now, of which Leo is very grateful. They've become very good at avoiding useless conflicts if they can. Also, the fact that Timmy just showed up on top of the stairs in his red and black striped pajamas helps them leave the matter be for now. “Daddy?” The kid calls him, rubbing his eyes.

“I'm coming, pumpkin.” Blaine's voice is eerily dark as he walks past him to get to the stairs. “Next time you ask me first, Leo. I don't like to be ambushed.”

“Yes, sir,” Leo mutters as he picks up his backpack from the floor.

Luckily Blaine doesn't hear him or pretend not to.

*

The next day, Leo decides to start making dinner around half past six. It's early enough to give him time to make some serious show-stopping plates, but not too early, which would make him look eager and make Blaine even more annoyed than he already is. 

He and Blaine haven't spoken much since yesterday, except for some civil exchanges about the household management – Did you put on the dishwasher? Do you feel like eating meat for lunch? – but Leo is confident enough that the tension will fade eventually and they will talk about this without either of them freaking out. That is how they roll now. So, he's not surprised when Blaine shows up in the kitchen and leans casually against the door after hours spent purposefully avoiding him. If he hadn't had to prepare dinner, Leo would have done the same, “So, what are you making for dinner?”

Leo turns to smile at him as he slices the last eggplant on the cutting board. There's an army of zucchini and eggplants slices already arranged in a single layer on a piece of paper towel. Once he will be done slicing, he'll sprinkle the slices with a pinch of salt, which will draw out any extra moisture and bitter taste. “Something super easy,” he answers. “Pasta with a sauce of eggplants and zucchini, and your favorite, chicken salad.”

“Last time I tried making pasta, I almost set fire to the kitchen. So I wouldn't call it easy,” Blaine comments, entering the kitchen and picking a few grapes from the fruit bowl to pop them in his mouth. “But since it's you, I can believe that. And for dessert?”

Leo likes the fact that Blaine took it as a given that he would include dessert. “I was thinking brownies, what do you say? So I can set a few aside for Timmy's snack tomorrow.”

Blaine stares at him for the longest time, as if he was trying to decide if he can stop being unreasonably mad at him – which he's totally doing – and then he pops another grape in his mouth and leaves him a kiss on top of his head. “That's bribing, kid. You know I can't stay mad at you if you're nice to Timmy.”

“And you know I can't resist you when you wear that Zegna's shirt,” Leo smirks, pulling him closer by said shirt and giving him a proper kiss. “So we're even.”

“Not so fast, kiddo,” Blaine snorts, and there are still traces of wickedness in his eyes. He knows Leo doesn't deal well with him being angry and he's enjoying keeping him on pins and needles, constantly fearing that he might possibly not so surely let it go. “Let me meet this guy and then we'll see.”

“Alright. It's gonna happen soon. he'll be here at eight,” Leo informs him as he retrieves the chicken breasts from the fridge and starts cutting them with precision, all of the pieces almost the same size. “Timmy can have his dinner in half an hour. I'm making him a burger and fries,” he points at the stove where a rounded patty, he surely made by hand, is sizzling in its oiled pan while fries are cooking in the air fryer, this silly contraption that he loves so much and that he begged for for months, the mechanics of which is completely inexplicable to Blaine. “Is he feeling any better?”

“Much better. Tylenol always does the trick. Now he's wrapped in your unicorn hoodie and he's playing one of your video games, so much for _daddy you're my favorite_. He clearly worships you,” Blaine grumbles. But then, he decides to help and starts to do the only thing he knows how to do without making too much damage: washing and cutting lettuce.

Leo welcomes the help with a silent nod. “What video game?”

“Now you're asking too much of me. What I can tell you is that I saw some girl with pink wings and a pair of manacles on her wrists, I think,” Blaine frowns. “Is that a violent one?”

“First of all, that's a boy and those are not manacles, just very big cartoonish bracelets. And don't worry, it is super age-appropriate. I bought it just for him a few weeks ago, do you remember?” He explains as he puts eggplants and zucchini in another pan and starts roasting them. “It's called _Fairy Call_. You play as a fairy prince or princess whose royal fairy cat has been kidnapped and you embark on a journey to find him. It's for age 5+. Very entertaining and mind-stimulating. It's got story mode and sand-box mode, so he can follow a story but also create stuff. The most ferocious thing he can do is transform enemies into cute stuffed animals with a wave of his wand. Enemies are just temporarily transformed, though. Nobody dies. And since I finished it before giving it to him, I can reassure you, the catnapper redeems himself in the end.”

“You thought of everything,” Blaine comments.

“Don't act so surprised,” Leo chuckles as he assembles Timmy's burger, adding salad, tomato, cheddar, mayonnaise and bread.

“But I am,” Blaine continues somberly. “You've been extremely thoughtful with him lately. If I think how it started, It's incredible how far you've come. I'm really proud of you.”

Leo smiles, really proud of himself too. “Thanks. So, can you trust me a little bit further and believe that as I would never give Timmy some gory video games, I would never fall for a random man who hit on me in the streets and then proceed to invite him over for dinner?”

Blaine puts down his knife. The lettuce is cut, his work here is done. “Your loyalty was never in question, kid.”

“Then what is it?”

“There will be time to talk later.” Blaine sighs as he always does when Leo doesn't get something that is so obvious to him. He takes Timmy's plate from Leo's hands, puts it on a tray, together with a glass of water and a banana. “I'll bring Timmy his dinner. There's smoke coming out of that pan. Is it supposed to do that?”

Leo would like to ask him to explain, but the fear that his precious vegetables might be burning urges him to turn around to save them, only to see that there's no smoke in sight. Blaine avoiding confrontation – or, as he put it, _postponing it_ – that is something new.

*

The doorbell rings at exactly eight o'clock. Blaine didn't expect nothing less from the so-called book agent who surely wants to make a good first impression and pretend to be always so politely punctual. And he's not surprised either when he gets the door and finds him standing there with a 70$ bottle of Chateau Talbot in his hand. He really was expecting this guy to pull all the stops the first chance he got to make sure Leo get hook, line and sinker. Unfortunately for this poser, Blaine is there to expose every single one of his tricks. Besides, Leo could list all kind of sodas existing in the world alphabetically but doesn't know anything about wine, except that he's not a big fan of it.

“Good evening,” Mark says. He's a handsome guy – Blaine can't deny that – but just in a sort of regular way. He's undeniably good looking, but there's nothing peculiarly so in him. He's got fine features, a very strong nose that would be unpleasant in a plainer face but gives his character, and thin sexy lips. He's perfectly groomed and his dark brown hair is shiny and thick. It's funny to Blaine that he looks like a young Ryan Reynolds, an actor that neither him or Leo probably knows.

“Good evening,” Blaine smiles charmingly, shaking his hand. “You must be Mark.”

“In the flesh. And you must be... Leo's boyfriend.”

The hesitation is not missed on Blaine, who smiles even more. Oh, you were expecting someone Leo's age, weren't you? But if you think it's gonna be easier, that is where you're wrong. “That would be me. Blaine, nice to meet you. Please, come on in.”

“Nice to meet you. Thank you.”

Blaine leads him towards the living room. They've set the big table for special occasions, which they've never used before because it's always only the three of them in the house and the kitchen table is enough for that. Leo took so much joy in setting the living room table that he declared he was going to have big dinners and invite more people in the future. It would be undoubtedly nice, but considering his mood swings, Blaine thinks that's gonna take a long time.

“Hello! Welcome,” Leo says, coming out of the kitchen with a tray of appetizers, which were not on the menu up to half an hour ago, but that he suddenly realized were missing while he was halfway through putting the finishing touches on the pasta sauce. “Did you find the place easily?”

“Absolutely,” Mark smiles at him and Blaine hates him. “You didn't lie when you said you were pretty close to home the other day.”

“Leo doesn't feel very adventurous lately,” Blaine comments, affectionately.

“That's an understatement,” Leo chuckles. “But please, have a seat.”

“Oh, this is for you,” Mark is forced to offer the bottle of Chateau Talbot to Blaine since Leo's hands are occupied. “I'm being told it's a nice one.”

_Oh please, don't act like you're clueless about it. Nobody spends so much on a random wine._ “Thank you, it'll be perfect for tonight's dinner. “

“How's the little one?” Mark asks, sitting down.

Blaine reserved the place at the head of the table for himself and had Leo sit at his right and Mark at his left. “Better, thank you for asking.”

“Timmy had no more fever today, but he was still grumpy,” Leo explains, while offering the tray with the cold cuts and some cut of cheese on. “So he had his dinner earlier. But knowing him, he might show up to say hello later.”

“I'd love to meet him too,” Mark smiles.

I highly doubt it, Blaine thinks but obviously doesn't say. The time spent eating the appetizers is also spent exchanging pleasantries and establishing what everybody is doing for a living. Mark acts extremely impressed to learn that Blaine is a well known Broadway actor, but of course declares himself an ignorant on the matter as he's not, in his words, well-versed in theater in general. “Don't worry, that doesn't surprise me at all,” Blaine says. He's obviously judging him, but he manages to make it sound like an affectionate remark. Mark tenses just slightly, yet he keeps smiling. Blaine counts that as a victory.

By then it's time for the main course that Leo brings to the table in a nice bowl that Marge and Rod, Timmy's grandparents, gave Blaine as a welcome present in his new home in Lima. For a time that has been the only nice thing about the house for Blaine. “Be careful, it's very hot,” Leo warns them, handing the plates around. “I really hope it's good.”

“If the taste is half as good as the look of it, then it must be great,” Mark comments.

Blaine really struggles not to roll his eyes. He's purposefully ignoring the fact that if the situation was reversed, he would do exactly the same, charming his way into people's heart. That is his thing too, and it's annoying that he shares that with stupid _Mark_. But it also gives him an advantage, because Blaine knows exactly how this guy think and he sees right through all his mannerisms. “So, how long have you been a book agent?”

“Six years, more or less. I mean, I opened my own agency just two years ago, but I've worked both for Harper Collins and Penguin, and for a very short time also for Simon & Schuster as well. ” Mark grabs a forkful of pasta and then proceeds to moan in pleasure. “I knew it. This is really wonderful. Where did you learn to cook?”

“My father,” Leo beams with pride. “He is a cooking nazi. He thinks well prepared food is at the root of civil human interaction. It's funny because he is nor civil nor human, in my opinion. Anyway, when I was a kid, cooking was our bonding thing.”

“Leo told me you want to read some of his stories,” Blaine tries to steer back the conversation to the main point of Mark being here. 

“Yes. I'm always looking for new young writers,” Mark nods. “The market is saturated with older writers whose visions are stale and completely unoriginal at this point.”

“Isn't it a bit reckless to say that more experienced writers are bad for the market?” Blaine frowns. “I understand the need for new blood, but you can't just erase the old generation to make room for the new one. In theater, new faces are always welcomed, but there are parts young actors simply cannot play, and not just because the character they are supposed to play is older than them, but because it has charisma, a stage presence they don't have yet. Young actors must learn from the old ones, that's how it works. You can't possibly think to have a Gene Duncan without an Hailey Powell.”

“I totally agree on that, Blaine,” Marks nods, even if he probably doesn't know who these two people are. “But I'm not talking about sacred cows of literature, here. I'm referring to those authors who wrote one, maybe two good books, and then just lived off those books' fame for the rest of their lives, who are considered great authors just because they are old authors, even if they've written more bad and mediocre books than good ones. Age is certainly important, but it can't be the only discriminatory factor. Some authors of the old guard are simply not up to the task anymore.”

_Of course you think that, Mark Sullivan, you are what, thirty? Thirty-two? Let's speak again in ten years, when you'll start losing that luscious hair and you'll need glasses to read the fine prints on the label of the expensive wines you buy just to show off you can._ “And you usually find new authors while jogging in the park?”

Mark doesn't fall for it. He just smiles. “Unfortunately no, that was just a stroke of luck.”

“I'm not sure he found anything,” Leo butts in, sensing the tension and really wanting to avoid it. “He hasn't read anything yet and it's probably just crap anyway. That's why I'm stuffing your face with food. At least you'll have a nice memory of me once you've left tonight.”

The chicken salad gives them pause. Other compliments to Leo's cooking skills are exchanged and then they finally move on to the couch, where Leo presents Mark with his tablet on which he has loaded a few of his stories. “I think those are the best ones, at least those it makes sense for you to read,” Leo says.

A very long moment of awkwardness follows, at least for Blaine. Mark proceeds to read Leo's work, conceding it his undivided attention and Leo looks at him, biting at his nails nervously. Both he and Blaine wait in religious silence for some sort of reaction from the book agent. It is okay for a while but at some point Blaine feels really weird just standing there, looking at this man who's reading something Leo has been fervently refusing to let him read for months as if this Mark Sullivan was such a big deal. So, he decides that he can very well start to clear the table. Leo, too caught up in the breath-holding worshiping of this self-proclaimed publishing house guru, doesn't even notice he's gone.

Eventually, after at least half an hour – Blaine had the time to clear the table, load the dishwasher and start it, go upstairs to check on Timmy and come back downstairs to witness the last stretch of this expert reading session – Mark looks up from the display. “It's raw and it needs some adjustments,” he comments, and Blaine clearly sees Leo's disappointed face. “But it's good. It's really good, actually. You told me you don't know where you're going with this yet, but I think you know very well, instead. You only need to find the courage to go there.”

“Really?” Leo asks, confused. Despite everything, Blaine finds himself asking the same thing.

“Yes, really. I mean, there's a lot of work to do and I definitely want to take everything home and re-read it, but I think there's something worth working on here. I'd like to make some corrections on these and send them back to you to see how you deal with them, if that's okay.”

“Sure, I mean—Of course,” Leo mumbles, sitting down. He's so confused and nervous that he started to torture the hem of his shirt again.

Blaine doesn't like that at all. “And then what happens?” He asks.

“Then we sit down, talk about the idea he has and make a good plan about it. But it's too soon for that now. As I understand it, Leo has never written seriously before and it shows, but he's got good ideas and a good form. This could be something. Let's see how he reacts to my corrections and requests, I can be very annoying. He might find out that he doesn't like the work at all or I might find out he's not really cut for the job. If he is, then great. If he's not, then no harm no foul.”

Blaine is still not so sure about that. As far as he's concerned, people usually send their manuscripts to an agent and only one in a thousand is lucky enough to be picked up. You don't get to be approached at the park by a book agent who was causally passing by and decided to give you a chance like in a badly written rom-com. But Leo is clearly out of himself with happiness and Blaine sees no point in making a scene now. 

“I'll look forward to your corrections,” Leo says, walking him to the door.

“Wait until you have received them,” Mark chuckles. “Some of the authors I work with hate me because I'm really picky.”

“But they're still working with you.”

“That's because I'm good,” Mark grins. This time, Blaine does roll his eyes.

Blaine and Leo wave him goodbye and then close the door. They wait in silence until they can hear him walk away from the door and then Leo erupts in a prolonged, low squeak, the only way his body found to express all the excitement and shock he's feeling right now without properly screaming, which would wake up Timmy. It's so silly that Blaine can't help but chuckle. “Alright, calm down now, before you have a stroke.”

“Did you hear that? He said it's good!”

“Yes, yes,” Blaine sighs and grabs him by his shoulders guiding him back towards the couch. “He also said you'll have to work on it. And it might be a lot of work. Are you sure you're up for it? You don't deal great with critics.”

“I don't know!” Leo shrugs.

“Given that he's a real book editor, anyway. I'm still not sure about that because—“

Leo puts both his hands on his mouth and stares right into his eyes. “Can we not think about that right now? Just let me be happy about it for tonight, alright? Tomorrow we will talk about this and I promise I will let you speak badly of him. I know you want to critic everything about him: his clothes, the way he talks and acts. And I will listen to all your doubts and we will think about how to deal with this in a reasonable, non-dangerous way. But can I just be a little happy for tonight? Please.”

Blaine looks at him and then sighs. When he came back and decided to take care of the mess Leo was, he also promised himself that he would make sure Leo was always happy this second time around, even if it meant to suck it up every once in a while. And this is it, Blaine thinks, for tonight he'll suck it up.  
After all tomorrow, as someone more famous than him once said, is another day.


End file.
